Underworld Angels
by jessxreality
Summary: Preqel to City of Secrets with original characters. MI crew won’t be featured until much later chapters. The story is set in Cassandra Clare’s world. To read about the MI crew, go here: www. fanfiction. net/s/5093 524/1/ City of Secrets remove spaces
1. Chapter 1

_**Underworld Angels**_

**A/N: This story is the back-stories of both Blair and Jack – my original characters – leading up to the events of my first MI fanfiction City of Secrets. ****I recommend reading City of Secrets before reading Underworld Angels. **

**If you've not read City of Secrets, go here: **www. fanfiction. net/s/5093 524/1/ City_of_Secrets **Remove spaces when putting in the URL.**

**City of Secrets » by jessxreality** Post-CoG spoliers -Jace, Clary, Isabelle, Alec and Simon meet a strange new girl at Pandemonium. She has a rune on her wrist, but isn't a shadowhunter. With a dark history and darker secrets Blair becomes the new bleeding disaster of the story.

**Underworld Angels is just based on Blair and Jack, and the MI crew (eg. Jace, Clary, Alec, Izzy, Simon etc.) won't be featured until much later chapters. The story is set in Cassandra Clare's world, but travels all over the world – from France, to Australia and Zimbabwe. If you want to read about the MI crew go to City of Secrets.**

**I hope readers follow the story and don't get too confused. This first chapter if just a prologue and I'll be putting up the first real chapter in a few days time.**

**Hope everyone enjoys…**

**Jess**

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**Jack**

There's only one thing I really want in the world. There are things I need to survive, but there's only one thing I really _want_. I know this. I've been told this.

The irony?

I don't know what it is.

**Blair**

I used to know what I wanted. Everything was so clear in my mind. Certain steps to follow and forms to fill out. Something physical to touch, or hold. Or a clear goal, objective. Now everything is cloudy and uncertain, like I'm looking at my life through water.

I'm told what I want, but really, I'm just following orders.

I just don't have the energy to care anymore.


	2. Chapter 2 Jack

Sorry this took so long to get out, I am now on holidays, but have just finished a hectic year, so haven't updated in a while, again, sorry. The next chapter may take a while too.

Sorry, JessX

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**Jack**

**1. France, 1917**

I lean back against the trench wall. Never really my thing; the trenches and the shells and the rats and lice. I suck on my cigarette, looking at the men sitting around me. I'm in France now, somewhere near the Somme. Machine guns roar in the distance, hammering a trench that I'm just glad isn't this one.

It'd taken me a good week just to get here. Daylight really was an inconvenience. I'd spend all night travelling, and then have to take refuge in some abandoned dug out or poverty stricken country village – of which the locals would assume I was an AWOL Canadian soldier – during the day.

The men, in their not so new and neat blue uniforms, speak French to each other quietly, smoking cigarettes and eating what was left of their pitiful rations. My blue uniform had come off a dead soldier in No Man's Land. The men in the unit just assumed I was a new recruit, not even bothering to ask me my name. I am glad for this, because my French was really quite weak. I wish I'd been sent to the German lines – just one hundred or so yards from where I was now – because I was fluent in German, spending most of the 1914 there.

Sometimes the blood bothered me, but most of the time it smelt stale and cold. Bitter almost, so I never really had an issue controlling myself. In any case, I tried to spend as little time as possible on the front line. If the Clave even heard a whisper that there might be a vampire in the trenches, they generally acted quickly. Although, I was fairly sure the Clave didn't know who I was yet. I'd only been turned six years ago – still a fledgling. It wasn't a Shadowhunter war, but wherever there was war, demons followed, taking the mangled souls of soldiers. And vampires usually did crowd in the trenches too – easy blood.

But I'm not here for blood. I never go into a war for blood. It's too trivial. I am under orders. Orders to take out a general that was about to come and visit the soldiers. Generals very rarely come to the trenches – if you had the choice why would you? But he was just too hard to get to in France. This is going to be easy, safer and much more anonymous.

I look down to a young French soldier. He isn't any older than eighteen, a boy; his uniform is too big for him and gapes around his neck. "Snipers?" I ask in the best French I can manage. I also add a trench insult on the German's, just to sound a little more authentic. Snipers weren't exactly liked among the trenches.

The boy points to the side of him, down the trench line. "On the way to the shithouse, duck your head." So casual it's painful.

Suddenly, the ground shakes, followed by the sound of a shell. An assault. All the soldiers fall to the ground, quivering as machine gun fire sweeps over our heads. I feel I probably should do the same, but I can't really be bothered. Dirt is kicked up, and the force of the explosions should make my ears bleed, like the other soldiers. I don't hold onto my cigarette hard enough and it gets blown from my hand. There are some orders shouted, but I can't pin where from with all the noise.

This is the trouble with trench warfare – it's not a man's war, it's a machine's war. And political, of course, which is the reason I'm here now. But, my point is, the men here, are useless. All they do, is get slaughtered by gas and bombs and bullets. They have no real place in this war. The war is for who has the bigger guns.

The shelling stops, and slowly the men get to their feet, hesitant, terrified, waiting for the next piece of metal or chemical that will try to kill them. No one glances at me, the man who was just showered in shrapnel, yet has no scars to show of. They are all worried about themselves. Fair enough. In war, what does it matter of someone else, as long as you're still alive? The soldiers begin to smoke again, just sitting at the floor of the trench, their faces green with fear.

I catch a scent that's not human, and immediately, I begin to panic. My fear is not of guns or the smoke of bombs. My fear is someone finding me. It's a werewolf. It wasn't common, but sometimes, a werewolf would enlist in the army. Some of them – just like the humans – genuinely wanted to help their country and figured their abilities would do some good. That was until they worked out that the war was fought not by the soldiers, but by the politicians. And the other werewolves – like some of the humans – just wanted blood.

The werewolf is an officer. I dip my head, and try to look inconspicuous. I doubt it will work. I could just walk out of the bay, find the MO's tent and pretend a friend is dying. But that will probably just draw attention. I wait, as the officer walks forward and begins to talk in quick, erratic French to the soldiers. He's speaking too fast for me to pick up everything he says.

This is probably one of the worst things that could've happened. Of all the bays to walk into, I manage to get the one with a werewolf officer. Another thing about trenches, the smell of blood, dirt, metal and sweat masks everything. This was why I didn't pick up the werewolf's scent on the trench walls. I hoped this would also hide me; I knew this was a naïve hope, considering I could easily smell the wolf, and his sense of smell was only slightly lesser than mine. If this officer smelled what I was, everything would very quickly fall to pieces.

"Get up. Get up," he says, almost shouting, but not quite. You don't shout in the trenches. I miss what he says next, but it's something about the trench, pointing to the parados, then at the floor. The next sentence I can understand better. "The General will be here soon." The officer mentions another few things about uniforms, and then begins to leave.

I think I am safe. I think that the blood on the dead soldier's uniform that I stole has fooled the werewolf. But the officer stops abruptly, turning to face me. The men look at the officer, then to me.

"What unit are you from?" the officer asks me.

For a moment, I don't know how to answer. I should've spent more time studying French.

The officer steps forward before I answer and asks, "Papers?"

Identification. I begin to search through the pockets on the stolen uniform, hoping that this soldier died without anyone knowing who he was. I know that even if I do find the papers, it very likely that they will be from another unit, which won't really help me at all.

Nothing.

I did not think this through enough. I should have been more prepared. I was getting cocky; careless.

The officer speaks again. "Where's your --" Then a word I don't understand.

"What?" I ask.

"Your _fusil_?" The same word. This isn't good. "Gun? _Fusil_?" My rifle. He's asking about my rifle. I don't have one though. I only have a revolver tucked away in my stolen uniform. "Don't you speak French?" the officer spits at me. It's a rhetorical question, but I _don't_ actually speak French.

Again, I have no answer. I really, really went into this unprepared. The werewolf officer takes another step forward, then halts, one foot mid-step. He can smell me. He knows what I am. But he doesn't know what to do with me. I can see it in his eyes. He can hardly just turn around and kill me, not with his men watching him turn into a wolf. But he won't leave me here; he's too scared I'll kill his men.

Either the officer has realised my French is terrible, or he doesn't want his men to hear what we say, because the next sentence is said in German. Or perhaps he just thinks I'm a German spy. "You want blood, and you have to go somewhere else."

"I don't want blood," I tell him in German.

"You're a sucker. What else would you want?" His voice is a snarl. The men around us are confused.

"I'm working." I keep my voice casual. The officer tenses up.

"For the enemy?" He tries to sound intimidating. I'm not scared. I'd seen worse than this werewolf could imagine. And he was in the middle of a war.

"No. I serve no side in this war."

"Everyone must serve a side."

"I only serve myself."

"Ha," the werewolf laughs angrily. "Of course, you do."

This time I laugh. "It's war. Everyone serves themselves."

The wolf comes up short. "Get out of here and I won't kill you."

"Look, I won't hurt you or your men, if you just let me stay here until sunrise."

"Why?"

"I get lonely at night," I mock. Suddenly, I'm flung back against the parados, the wolf's hand at my throat. It doesn't hurt, but it's uncomfortable.

"Get away from my men, or I'll have you arrested."

I laugh again. "Arrested? For what? Fraternisation with the enemy?"

The werewolf tightens his grip. "Get out of my trench. Now."

"You're pinning me to the trench."

The werewolf makes a disgusted sound and flings me away from him. "Get out of my sight and I won't call the Clave."

The men around me still look confused. No doubt most of them know a little German, but not enough to understand what is going on between the officer and I.

"Fine," I mutter and begin to turn away. I can practically feel the werewolf staring through my back. I take one step. Two. Then, spin, revolver out, a loud shot going off. On the other side of No Man's Land someone returns fire, thinking it is them who are being shot at. The soldiers around me are stunned, staring helplessly at their dead officer. It wasn't uncommon for officers to be shot by their own men, but usually that only happened in a raid or an assault, not in cold blood.

I dart away, weaving through the men sprawled over the trench and running through the maze of open tunnels and bays. A few times I can hear a sniper bullet whiz past my head, but I'm too fast for it to catch me. I didn't want to kill the officer – I, unlike a lot of vampires, didn't hold that prejudice against werewolves – but sometimes a few deaths are necessary in order to get to the intended target. Anyway, it was all for the greater good, right?

General. I needed to find that stupid General. I'd already made a mess. Jannas was not going to be happy.


End file.
